


And The Law Is Not Mocked

by jelenedra



Category: 2000 AD (Comics), Dredd (2012), Judge Dredd - All Media Types
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Canon Character of Color, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotionally Repressed, Gen, Girls with Guns, Precognition, Psychic Abilities, Women Being Awesome, blending comic and film canon, both maitland and judy are black just fyi, do not argue with me on this i will not be having it, dredd and anderson are bros, i have so many autistic!dredd headcanons, in increasingly nonsensical ways, most of them don't show up here though, there is implied past abuse of an adult and a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:06:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelenedra/pseuds/jelenedra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after Peach Trees, Judge Anderson gets her very first rookie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Law Is Not Mocked

**Author's Note:**

> I think this makes me officially the most prolific Dredd author on AO3. (To be fair, at time of this writing there are 8 fics total in said tag.) 
> 
> Can be considered to be in the same continuity as I Am The Law if you squint.

“Judge Anderson, this is Rookie Maitland.”

Maitland can’t be more than a year younger than Anderson. She’s taller, though, and built more solidly. Her uniform is completely pristine. Anderson, meanwhile, has a piece of shrapnel as long as her forearm lodged in her pauldron, as well as a thick smear of what she hopes is only motor oil across her face. She has sweat running down her neck, a mounting tension headache, and an increasing sympathy towards Dredd’s attitude during her own final assessment. She pulls off her helmet and gives the rookie her iciest stare.

The Chief Judge’s serene smile never even wavers. “It’s her final assessment. She’s with you for your next shift.” 

“Yessir,” Anderson says, and walks away. 

She’s already at the armoury, being fitted with a replacement pauldron, when Maitland catches up to her. 

“How many crimes are committed in MegaCity One every day, rookie?” Anderson asks. She keeps her eyes firmly fixed on the endlessly scrolling list of available assignments. 

Maitland answers without missing a beat. “Anywhere between ten and thirty thousand. Mean of 17342, standard deviation of 3943.” 

“Very good.” Anderson deigns to look at her this time. “And how many can we respond to?”

“Mean of 1023, standard deviation of 68. Generally around 6.384%.” 

_Clearly a fan of precision._ The quartermaster steps away, and Anderson yanks at her new pauldron to make sure it’s secure. The eagle gleams golden in the Hall’s brilliant lights. “Correct. Follow.”

Maitland keeps stride with her easily. Anderson thinks back to what Dredd told her on their way out of this very building. 

“Today you get to pick which part of the slightly-over-six-per-cent we get to respond to. You may be required to carry out on-the-spot executions.” She flicks a glance at Maitland, who isn’t paling or sweating or even clenching her jaw. Anderson can only daydream about that kind of composure. “As a rookie judge on assessment, you’re probably going to see armed combat. There’s a 20% chance you’ll be killed. If you deliver an incorrect sentence, disobey me when I give you a direct order, lose your primary weapon, or have your primary weapon taken from you, you will be given an automatic fail. Ready?”

“Yessir,” Maitland says. 

Anderson has to admit, Maitland looks pretty ready. “In that case, your assessment starts now.” 

*

Maitland, Anderson discovers, wants to go into Accounts. Maitland has an enormous store of reports and evidence tucked away in her head. Maitland has decided that today they will be taking out a perp who’s thought to be hoarding several billion credits in laundered money and unpaid taxes. 

Anderson is really, really glad when it turns into a running fire fight.

She lets Maitland take the lead. The rookie clearly knows exactly what she’s looking for, and she’s damn good with her shotgun. She calmly executes the perp’s bodyguards—attempted murder of judges—and then leaves the sweating, shaking perp in restraints while she rifles through his belongings.

It takes a long time. Anderson considers just reading the perp’s mind, but decides against it. She’s already been on patrol for nearly twelve hours. She could use the rest. Also, some of the files Maitland’s dislodging hold a lot of extremely exotic pornography, and Anderson’s pretty sure even Dredd doesn’t love justice enough to deal with that.

She wanders into the perp’s bathroom to wash her face. The sweat from the chase has turned the black smear into a rainbow slick, starting just below her eye and sliding down her neck.

“Word of advice, rookie,” she calls. “Never volunteer for the jobs that involve robots.”

“Yessir,” Maitland calls back.

Anderson has used up the perp’s entire paper allowance and most of his daily water ration up by the time her face is clear. As soon as she has her helmet back on, her communicator crackles to life. 

_“CONTROL to Anderson, come in. Judge Dredd is requesting backup.”_

Anderson clicks the communicator on and says, “Roger that, ready to receive GPS. 1024?” As soon as her finger leaves the button she crashes into the front room. “Rookie, sentence.” Maitland hesitates. Anderson bares her teeth. “ _Now_ , Maitland!”

“Tax evasion, five years per million credits. Money laundering, ten years per million credits.”

“Perfect, awesome, call a meat wagon and let them sort it out, we gotta—”

The communicator buzzes again. _“Negative, Anderson.”_

Anderson clicks it on. “Say again, CONTROL?”

_“Negative on the 1024. Judge Dredd is not currently under fire.”_

Her wrist beeps as Dredd’s coordinates are uploaded. He’s at Sternhammer, a megablock on the other side of the Hall of Justice. 

“Uh, CONTROL, we’re at Blossom Court. At best we won’t be on scene for an hour.”

_“Judge Dredd specifically requested your assistance. The mission is not time-critical.”_

“Roger that, CONTROL. We’re en route.”

Maitland stays silent as Anderson hustles her into the elevator, only speaking again once they’re out on the pavement. “So you know Judge Dredd well, sir?”

“I fail to see the relevance, rookie.” Anderson mounts her Lawmaster and slams the kickstand back with more force than is strictly necessary.

“Just wondering, sir. I never heard of him working with anyone more than once or twice.”

“Rookie.” Anderson twists around and glowers as best she can when her only visible facial feature is her mouth. “Judge Dredd— _the_ Judge Dredd, as the Council is so fond of reminding us—just called for backup for something other than a 1024. As far as I know this has literally never happened before. There is no one in the entire Hall of Justice who is not shitting themself right now. Story time can come _later_.”

It’s hard to tell when she has such dark skin, but Anderson thinks Maitland’s cheeks go slightly red. “Yessir.” 

They ride. 

*

Sternhammer has a relatively low crime rate, as far as megablocks go, but that still means plenty for a Judge to do, and Dredd has clearly been busy. When they finally pull up, there’s a queue of wagons filling up with strings of handcuffed perps.

Judging by the GPS, Dredd is inside, on the top floor. 

Maitland breaks her silence as they enter the elevator. “Sir, can I ask a question?”

Anderson’s feeling magnanimous, for all that the tension in her spine keeps on ratcheting higher. They made the hour-long journey in forty-five minutes. “Go ahead.”

“Is there, uh... is there anything I should know about working with Judge Dredd?”

Anderson looks at the carefully straight lines of Maitland’s mouth, then pulls off her helmet to scratch at her hair. If she feels around a little in the meantime, no one has to know. She doesn’t look too deeply, but then she doesn’t really have to. Maitland’s body language and facial expression are perfectly controlled, but her mind is buzzing with all kinds of anxieties and even a little genuine fear. 

In the end, Anderson just shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know why people are so nervous around him. As long as you’re not actively committing a crime, he’s basically a marshmallow.”

Maitland does not seem especially convinced.

Anderson rolls her eyes. This is probably not fit conduct for a Judge conducting a final assessment, but what the fuck ever. If she really thinks about it, she does have some damn good advice for anyone who partners with Dredd for more than a few missions.

_Always be very clear and literal in your speech. No euphemisms, no metaphors. Arguing semantics will get you kneecapped. Unless you’re training hand to hand, keep physical contact to a minimum. Never even suggest that he takes off his helmet. He hardly ever gets worked up enough to let it show in his face, so if he looks slightly annoyed or concerned, you should be terrified._

She doesn’t think any of this is exactly going to put Maitland at ease, though, and they’re nearly at the top floor. In the end all she says is, “Rookie, it took me nearly two years to get a read on him. You may never even speak to him again. Don’t worry about it.”

The elevator chimes and the doors open. Anderson puts her helmet back on and leads the way. 

*

Dredd’s arrests must’ve cleared a lot of the building, but there are still plenty of everyday civilians going about their business. They’re all quick to clear the Judges’ paths. 

Anderson keeps one hand on her Lawgiver, just in case.

Dredd has apparently been alerted to their arrival and is waiting for them, standing stiffly by a closed door. 

“Judge Anderson.”

“Judge Dredd.” Anderson points at Maitland. “This is Rookie Maitland. She’s on assessment.”

“Hmm.” Dredd’s visor turns ever so slightly to examine Maitland. They’re the same height and the same solid build, but Dredd has a tendency to loom menacingly over everyone he meets. Anderson has to admit being a little impressed; Maitland doesn’t even twitch.

The silence is starting to drag a little, so Anderson breaks it. “CONTROL said you needed backup.”

“Yes.” Dredd turns to the door. Anderson automatically falls into step beside him. “I need assistance with a witness.”

“I would have thought—oh.”

There are two people in the room. One of them is a crying child.

“Standard interrogation techniques are not considered effective with children under the age of ten,” Dredd says. It sounds like every word is causing him physical pain. “And the witness is not currently coherent.”

“For the record, Dredd, that is basically the opposite of an appropriate reaction to this situation.” Anderson pulls off her helmet and enters the room slowly. The child is wrapped around the leg of a woman who has a fairly serious looking head injury. They’re both chained to the wall. “Can we get these cuffs off?”

“Not if they enjoy having legs,” Dredd says. 

That might be Dredd’s version of humour.

With her helmet off, she can feel Maitland again; there’s still a lot of anxiety there, but now it has direction, purpose. “Rookie. Assessment.”

“Contact paramedics for assessment and treatment of witnesses. Attempt to keep witnesses calm and contained, unless or until a higher priority situation develops.” Maitland’s answer is pretty much textbook perfect. 

“Excellent.” Anderson turns her very brightest smile on Maitland. “Hop to it.”

To her credit, Maitland doesn't even question it, just flicks on her comm unit and turns back to the elevator.

“Okay then.” Anderson settles down on her haunches in front of the witnesses. The child looks to be around six years of age, but she’s also definitely malnourished, so she could be as old as eight or nine. She’s been crying for so long that she doesn’t really have any tears left, just jerking sobs that wrack her whole tiny body. 

The older woman—also malnourished, but the proportions of her limbs suggest full physiological maturity—slurs out, “‘Nother change in management, huh?” 

“What do you mean?” Dredd growls. 

Anderson waves a hand at him. “Shh. Also, let me borrow your canteen.”

Dredd hesitates for a moment, but passes it to her without saying anything. She opens the cap and offers it to the child. 

“Hey, sweetie.” Anderson doesn’t want to go too far into such a young mind, but from what she can tell the gasping and sobbing isn’t really about sadness or fear or anger—at this point it’s more likely that the poor thing just can’t stop. “Could you drink some of this for me? It’ll help you feel better.”

The child stares at her, and Anderson doesn’t need to read minds to know suspicion when she sees it. She has big brown eyes and smooth skin so dark it almost seems blue under the harsh fluorescent lights. She’s also, as far as Anderson can see, perfectly hairless—no eyebrows, no eyelashes, not a single follicle anywhere. She’s probably been exposed to residual fallout at some point.

Anderson has a horrible feeling she knows exactly why the child ended up here. 

After a few seconds, the girl snatches the canteen away from her. The liquid inside is filtered water mixed with very specific ratios of sodium chloride, potassium, and bicarbonate, designed to rehydrate as efficiently as possible. Because sodium chloride, potassium, and bicarbonate taste like ass, it’s also spiked with artificial sweetener. The child settles down pretty quickly once she’s started sipping it. 

Anderson opens her own canteen and holds it up for the older witness, who automatically sips from it without lifting her own hands. Anderson’s gut clenches. 

“Can you try to relax for me?” she says. “I just need to ask you some things.”

The woman snorts, but doesn’t actually voice an objection. Anderson steps into her mind.

It’s not pleasant. The head injury is more severe than Anderson first thought—the woman has a bleed putting pressure on parts of her parietal lobe, and all her thoughts are wrapped in a kind of synaesthesia. Colours and sounds are standing in for complex concepts, and on top of that, she’s concussed. Anderson can’t even figure out what date or time the woman thinks it is, or where she thinks she is, or even what her name might be. She’s dizzy and confused, and is aware of Anderson’s intrusion in a way almost no one ever is, fighting against her every step of the way. Anderson backs out quickly, unwilling to risk doing more damage. 

“If we don’t get a medevac in the next fifteen minutes, we’ll need a meat wagon,” she tells Dredd. Then she turns to the child.

This time, when Anderson reaches out, the child reaches back.

Anderson falls on her ass. “Grud on a greenie.”

She can almost hear Dredd’s frown in his voice. “What is it?” 

“Not sure. Hold up.” Anderson goes back in.

_What’s your name?_

_Judy Janus._

_Hi Judy. I’m Cassandra Anderson. I’m a Judge, and I’m here to help you, okay?_

_I know. I saw you coming._

Now that’s interesting. 

Anderson technically qualifies as precognitive, but all she can really see are the intentions of the people around her. She can beat just about anyone at hand to hand, but anything beyond the next 24 hours are too hazy to be useful. The things Judy shows her—the things she’s seen—are more like true future visions. A lot of them are vague or dreamlike or full of symbolism, but they’re clear enough all the same—Judy knew that Dredd would come bursting through the doors, and more than that, she knew the only way she would get out in one piece was if she didn’t tell anyone about it.

Judy also knows she’s going to be a Judge one day. 

That is _very_ interesting.

Anderson steps back out carefully. Judy is calm now, still sipping on Dredd’s canteen. 

“Okay.” Anderson gets to her feet. Dredd is making his ‘you are distressed and I have no idea how to handle that’ face, hovering a few feet away. “Congratulations, Dredd, it’s a psychic.”

Maitland chooses that moment to lead a handful of paramedics into the room. Anderson directs them to the woman on the floor first, though she’s pretty sure it’s too late. If she’s chained to Judy like that she’s most likely a psychic herself, and too old for the Academy. Even if she comes out alive and without lasting damage, she’ll be sent to the Cursed Earth as soon as she can walk again. 

The paramedics have oxyacetaline torches in their kits, and use it to free both witnesses from the wall. Anderson picks Judy up, trailing shackle and all, and hands her to Dredd. He doesn’t drop her, but that’s just about the only thing to be said.

 _I must not laugh. Laughter is the mind killer._ She looks away quickly, biting hard on the inside of her cheek. She sobers quickly enough when she catches a paramedic’s eye—from the grim look on his face, the witness’ bleed spread too far and too fast. He’s prepping her for recyc.

“Anderson,” Dredd says. 

She turns back to him. He’s holding Judy out at arm’s length. She looks tiny in his arms, almost like a kitten hanging from a mother cat’s jaws. 

“Yes, Dredd?”

Dredd does not reply, just turns to look at her very, very slowly.

Anderson raises an eyebrow. “Are you still in need of backup, Judge Dredd?”

Dredd makes a low snarling noise. 

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Anderson can see Maitland trying very, very hard to keep a straight face, out of the corner of her eye.

Dredd’s face looks just like it did the time he was bleeding out of his femoral artery and she had to let half a dozen members of the Angel gang get away to patch him up. Anderson would be quite content to wait all day—maybe longer, considering how long it might take Dredd to come up with an actual sentence—but Maitland takes pity on him. She steps forward and accepts the girl when Dredd thrusts her at her chest. Anderson sighs and puts her helmet back on.

“Take Judy back to the academy, Rookie. I’ll meet you there.”

She moves forward until she could, hypothetically, put a hand on Dredd’s arm. She wouldn’t, knowing how much he’d hate it, but she could.

“We have got to work on your people skills, Dredd.” She bounces her forehead lightly off his shoulder. When she looks up Maitland is looking back at them. She can’t read her face from her mouth alone, but when she brushes up against her brain it’s a mess of awe and humour and abject horror at Anderson’s daring. 

Anderson would stick out her tongue if she wasn’t on duty, but as it is she has to settle for rolling her eyes behind her visor. Maitland and Judy vanish into the elevator.

Dredd says, “Letting the rookie leave unaccompanied is against protocol.”

“Oh yeah.” Anderson clicks on her communicator. “Anderson to CONTROL, do you copy?” 

_“Affirmative.”_

“Be advised, Rookie Maitland has passed her final assessment and is now considered a full Judge. More to follow.”

_“Acknowledged. Registering the change in Judge Maitland’s status now.”_

“She’s on her way back to the Hall of Justice now. She has with her an orphan, estimated age of... let’s go with seven. To be presented to the Chief Judge.”

_“Roger that. Anything else?”_

“Negative. Anderson out.” She clicks off the communicator and looks at Dredd. “Any objections?”

“Negative,” Dredd says. 

“Some days I just can’t figure out if you have a sense of humour or not.”

“I was never issued one,” Dredd deadpans. Anderson snorts.

They enter the elevator and stand together in silence as it takes them down. As they pass level 50, Dredd shifts uncomfortably.

“Anderson...”

Anderson looks at him. “Don’t mention it.”

Dredd takes her at her word and falls silent again. Anderson punches him in the shoulder.

They’re crossing the foyer, about to go their separate ways, when their comms crackle to life. _“Judge Hershey has called in a 1024 in sub-sector 31, flyover 2. Any Judges, please respond.”_

Anderson glances at Dredd. He nods, once. They break into a run.

Well, Anderson runs. Dredd just lengthens his stride. 

“Dredd to CONTROL. Judge Anderson and I are en route.”

Anderson mounts her Lawmaster. Her wrist beeps as CONTROL uploads Hershey’s coordinates. Before she starts the engine, she clicks on her communicator.

“Anderson to Maitland.”

_“Sir?”_

“I won’t be catching up with you after all.” Anderson grins. “Congratulations, Judge.”

There’s a moment of silence before Maitland responds. _“Thank you, sir. Good hunting.”_

Anderson kicks her bike into gear. Dredd’s presence is rock-steady beside her. They pull out onto the megahighway.


End file.
